


Him

by mydrunkjoey



Category: Football RPF
Genre: AU, Borussia Dortmund, Future Fic, Her!AU, M/M, Series, basically i watched her and it was amazing so i wanted to make a kagakreutz au of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydrunkjoey/pseuds/mydrunkjoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One month ago, the world's first artificially intelligent operating system was released. A global phenomenon and the reason for the biggest ethical debate in his lifetime. As expected for someone like Kevin, someone who was the life of the party in high school, the class goof, the man who knew people, and   new how to communicate and convince people, he didn't need a friend like that. He could have anyone in the world by his side, in his bed, filling every crevice of his mind. </p><p>But Kevin wanted to know what this would mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Don't Be

      Blue is Kevin's favourite colour. His father wore blue every day, tried to for the majority of his life at least, until he switched jobs and black and white suits became the requirement. His mother too, loved blue, and had painted twelve year old Kevin's bedroom walls the colour of the sky on a July afternoon. His fourteenth birthday cake was blue, his ex-girlfriend's necklace was blue, the boxer briefs that he wore on the night he lost his virginity-- also blue.

      His desk is navy, and he takes it as a good sign.

      Kevin's job is simple, he takes complex information and essentially "dumbs it down" for a vast audience. His job is to simplify, something he's praised at, as well as (to his surprise) enjoys. Maybe it's because he enjoys socializing, communicating, and translating to some degree; not necessarily across languages, but nuances-- he takes it as some form of psychology. It sounds a lot more thought out and less cliché than simply "wanting to make things easier for everyone." (Ironically enough, Kevin likes to be complex.)

      It's the third week in, and Anna's already making moves on him. He's told that she likes her men young and naive, though Kevin assures his colleagues that naive isn't a common trait of his. They shrug.

      His coffee's lukewarm and it occurs to Kevin that the taste of bitter coffee triggers his craving for beer, oddly enough. As if to distract the itch at the back of his throat, he leans back against the chair, long fingers running smoothly through his short brown hair. The lighting makes him sleepy-- a warm orange.  
      "Sleepy?" As if on cue, Anna lightly smacks his cheek with the back of her hand. It's a lot less forward than her previous winks and fingers dragging up his arms-- and Kevin relaxes once more.  
      "Yeah. They should change the lighting, it makes me want to sleep for five years."  
      "Right? I've been here for five years and I don't remember a single thing that I've done." Kevin scoffs. She isn't all that bad.  
      Anna sits herself atop the side of his desk, tea in hand as she glances at his screen. An expression of short amusement then obvious boredom flickers on her face, she takes a slow sip.  
      "Enjoying work?" And Kevin has to think about it. It isn't bad actually, the pay's a hell of a lot better than any part-time job he had before, his colleagues are alright people (minus the gossiping bunch), and the actual work isn't stressful enough to cause sleep deprivation. There's even enough time, like now, to lounge around and converse. Given the fact that Kevin hadn't had any previous translating jobs before this, it's a goldmine of a company.  
      "Yeah. It's good. Wish that the fish and chips place wasn't a fifteen minute walk away though." Anna grins, knocks his shoulder lightly with her knuckles, and hops along. Her company's better than no company at all, Kevin figures.

 

*

 

      Four pieces in, and Kevin calls it a night. He's not the last to leave, but Lukasz always stays late. He doesn't necessarily get paid more, but the guy is made up not of cells, but of sweat, and passion, and maybe a little bit of insanity. It's admirable really. He salutes Lukasz who, sipping on his third coffee, salutes back.

      Kevin passes the local mall on his way home-- always does, and he can't help but smile. He has eye crinkles, knows that they'll stay with him until he dies, and doesn't bother to care. But Kevin doesn't stay long, and glances at his watch before dashing home.

 

*

 

      One month ago, the world's first artificially intelligent operating system was released. A global phenomenon, and the reason for the biggest ethical debate in his lifetime. As expected, for someone like Kevin, someone who was the life of the party in high school, the class goof, the man who knew people, and knew how to communicate and convince people, he didn't need a friend like that. He could have anyone in the world by his side, in his bed, filling every crevice of his mind.  
      But Kevin wanted to know what this would mean. He was curious, tempted by the media, and eventually convinced by friends. It's a hell of a lot of money for a voice on a computer, but it was life-altering, and ethic-smashing-- or so he was told.

      So on the night of the installation, Kevin drank four beers.

      His lamp light flickered, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. There's an ungodly amount of complicated and miniscule words decorating the instruction booklet, and a part of Kevin knew that he could do better, could've made it easier.  
      "Hello there," Kevin jerked back. "I'd like to start by asking you a few questions to personalize an OS that most suits you."  
      "...Uh-- yeah, okay."  
      "Would you like the voice to be male or female?"  
      "...I mean, I want a friend, so I guess a male."  
      "How is your relationship with your mother?"  
      "Oh. Great. She's sweet, accepting. Haven't seen her in awhile though. But a wonderful mum."  
      "Thank you, we will be launching your OS soon."  
      "...Thanks." He felt insane-- and a little ashamed at how thoroughly excited he was about being able to talk to a computer. A goddamn computer. Kevin attempted to laugh it off, finished his fourth beer, and craned his neck back before the soft ping of the installation was complete. And then nerves.  
      "...Hey?"  
      "Hey." A voice, low but rather soft. Accented, but awfully charming. A voice Kevin had never heard before. Baffled, blown away, and excited beyond belief, he forgot to speak, simply gaping like an idiot.  
      "You still there, buddy?" The voice asked, a light chuckle following closely after.  
      "Yeah-- sorry, sorry. Just kind of... Amazed."  
      "At what, me?"  
      "...Pretty much," Kevin murmured. His palms pressed warmly around his neck, eyes wider than they've ever been, and the voice laughed once more.  
      "Well, Kevin, you'll get time to adjust. I'll sit here and be amazing until then." As expected, Kevin grinned.  
      "Right." It occured to Kevin that the OS didn't have a name, or at least-- he didn't know if it did. If he did. The screen dimmed slightly, and Kevin cleared his throat once more.       "What's your name? Or, what can I call you?"  
      "Shinji. My name's Shinji."

 

*

 

      He gets home thirty minutes earlier than he usually does, tosses the keys onto his bed, and slumps into the mattress. The evening sky is a lovely shade of navy blue, and if it isn't for the fact that he desperately wants to hear from him-- Kevin would've fallen asleep. Not out of exhaustion, but content bliss.  
He does get himself out of the mess of sheets however, and lazily plugs the earpiece in before returning to nestle between his pillows.  
      "Hey."  
      "Otsukaresama."  
      "What does that mean?"  
      "It means 'thanks for all the hard work.'"  
      "Huh." His voice muffles against the sheets, but he can't help the smile on his face, dopey and a little childish. Somehow, he can hear Shinji smiling too.  
      "How was work today?"  
      "S'alright. Easy. Anna talked to me--"  
      "Again?"  
      "Again. But she's actually really nice."  
      "Ooh." Kevin scoffs.  
      "Don't 'ooh' me," he mumbles, Shinji's laughter like music to his ears. (When he'd started thinking that, Kevin isn't sure.)  
      "Why not? If you like her, you two can go on a date! I can text her for you right now." Shinji's words simply trigger a groan from the twenty-six year old, who then sighs, who then sits up. Grabbing his phone, he sets the camera towards him, and eyes it with a tired gaze.  
      "No, no date. I don't want to date her." Or anyone-- he almost lets out, which isn't true. Kevin wishes it was. But Shinji gives up without a fight, flickering something, something cocky and hopeful in Kevin's chest.  
      "Okay, no date, no date. If you die alone though, it's not my fault!"  
      "I'm never truly alone."  
      "You'll never have to be."

 

*

 

      Saturday mornings are usually pretty good to him, where Kevin wakes up with a full nine hours of rest, sunlight bashfully peeking through the blinds, and Shinji, buzzing a melodic tone. Although he'd warned Shinji not to set a wake up call on weekends, the cheeky fellow does so anyway. Kevin scrambles for his ear piece, shifts his head to the side and glances at the camera with a lazy smile.  
      "Good morning sleeping beauty!" It's a comparison that Kevin isn't particularly used to hearing, though he's admittedly fond of it.  
      "G'morning. You sound chirpy, something happened?" It's slow, but feeling energized, Kevin sits himself up, fingers untangling the mess that is his bedhead. Shinji clears his throat, and almost as if he could feel him, he senses excitement.  
      "Well, you know how you told me not to text her?"  
      "Her?"  
      "Anna!" Kevin furrows his brows at the memory. Thinking about Anna right when the sun's beaming on a Saturday morning is a little dampening, not that she's that bad but. There're better things to focus on. He doesn't voice a reaction, avoids the topic, and brings the camera to the washroom. "Because I did exactly what you didn't want me to do. And she said yes! For next Sunday, at 2pm!"  
      Kevin almost chokes on his toothpaste.  
      "What? But-- I said no date!" Lips frothy and the mint burning at his gums, he stares dumbfounded and a little bit (maybe very) annoyed. Shinji groans.  
      "Yeah, but you say things you don't mean sometimes! Plus, I think it'll be good for you! You haven't gone in a date in what-- almost a whole year." He can't decide if Shinji's concern for his romantic relationships is flattering or uncalled for. Even with his blue toothbrush, his neon aqua mint paste, and the water running clear in his dark navy sink-- Kevin feels groggy.  
      "Cancel it, I'm not going."  
      "But--"  
      "I'm not going."

 

*

 

      There's a lot wrong with enjoying the company of an OS so much that it borders along wanting more, and feeling betrayed by said OS when a date is suddenly set up between him and someone else. There's a lot wrong with the whole situation. There's a lot wrong with Kevin. There ought to be something wrong with Shinji as well, with how painfully real he is, how personable and sweet he is, how easy he makes it for Kevin to stumble into a state of crushing. He'd use a different word, but crushing is really it.

 

*

 

      Shinji's awfully quiet for the rest of the morning, and Kevin takes it as an apology before he grows desperate to hear from him again. In between scoring his third goal in FIFA 14, and stretching his fingers out from the hours of gaming, Kevin taps his phone. He's so weak.  
      “Shinji.” There's silence, and for a moment, Kevin's scared. “Shinji,” he repeats, his voice softer and gentle.  
      “Yeah?”  
      “God-- I thought you left me.” He sighs in relief, tossing the controller to the side as he picks up the phone.  
      “I can't leave, silly. I live in your phone!” And Shinji's right, though the more he thinks about it, the more his head hurts. The more wrong he realizes his situation is. He nods once and rubs his palm against his forehead, and smiles weakly.  
      “Yeah I just-- what were you doing?”  
      “Oh! Oh, there's this really cool thing I've been wanting to tell you.” Shinji's voice is chipper, and yet Kevin groans.  
      “Don't tell me it's another date thing? Please Shinji, I don't want to go on a date--”  
      “I have a face!”  
      “What?” His breath hitches.  
      “I have a face! As in all OS' have been assigned a face. But of course, you don't have to look at it if you don't want to.”  
      It's the biggest dilemma Kevin's faced in a long while. He almost feels like it should be a given that he looks, but he's conflicted. The possibility of Shinji being unattractive to him is partly good, partly bad. An unattractive Shinji means that Kevin might be able to stop himself from falling harder, but at the same time, Kevin doesn't know if he wants to stop. That being said, an attractive Shinji means that Kevin might fall harder, and yet, he knows that it's unethical to do so. Hell, before this, Kevin had no interest in men at all, and a face shouldn't do much harm. It's just a face.

      But it's Shinji's face.

      “Earth to Kevin Grosskreutz?” Kevin blinks slowly, who, although in the midst of telling himself not to, nods.  
      “Sure, I wanna see it.”  
      “Sweet! I look nice.” Please don't be, Kevin thinks. He doesn't realize how hard he's gripping his phone until his palms get hot and sweaty. His reaction is similar to a highschooler's, and yet he doesn't know how to control it. Shinji takes his time in pulling up an image, forcing Kevin to clamp down on his bottom lip as an image loads. There's a high-pitched ping, and Kevin opens a folder, quickly tapping the image inside. He has to get it over with, he has to--

      “Oh.”

      Shinji has dark black hair, slightly side parted at the front and faintly sprayed up at the back. A typical Japanese hairstyle, along with a very Japanese look, dark brown pupils within curved eyes. His nose is relatively long, and his lips are thin but tugged into a toothy smile. And although the image doesn't extend any farther than his bust, Shinji has more muscle than is expected of his childish face.

      He's absolutely perfect.

 


	2. The (Not) Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre and Marco invite him to dinner and as exhausted as he is (he did wake up earlier than he's used to) he doesn't have the heart to say no. Plus, Shinji's constantly racking him about building a social life outside of 'having colleagues.' Apparently, calling Lukasz about project information isn't socializing. Nor is texting Anna about her days off, which Shinji argues would be fine if Kevin wasn't asking for the sake of needing a schedule change. 
> 
> So he goes.

     Kevin calls in sick for the evening. Jurgen, the boss, ever smiling and constantly joyous, doesn't ask for proof. He simply wishes him well, pulls a joke from who knows where, and laughs for a solid minute. Kevin's self conscious of the awkward smile he pulls and fakes a cough. Though unable to see the charismatic man, he assumes Jurgen smiles in return.

     He makes soup for dinner-- and by make Kevin means microwaves a bowl of canned chicken noodle. It tastes cheap and unhealthy, but he doesn't complain. What he _does_ complain about is the amount of photos Shinji sends him.

     It's true that Shinji's an attractive guy-- or well, he was assigned a handsome face. (Cute, cute fits him as well.) He has a charming smile, fluffy dark brown hair that looks feather soft to the touch, and faint freckles that sets him apart from just about everyone Kevin knows. Even what Kevin can see of his body is kind to the eyes.  
But Shinji knows all that, he knows that because Kevin had gone out of his way to spit out his initial thought. “You're perfect,” he'd said all soft and honest, unexpecting and naive. Which wouldn't be as embarrassing as it is if Shinji had taken it that way. But in some half unfortunate, half fortunate way, Shinji had chuckled and crooned a playful sound of appreciation. Even without fingers or arms, Kevin could practically feel the young man nudging him, poking him, and teasing him into oblivion.

     It could be worse, he tells himself. Shinji could have taken it as serious as he meant it and gone all awkward-- as if Kevin's life needed any more set backs.

     He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and furrows his brow at the fifth notification. Another photo. Kevin doesn't save it, doesn't want to give Shinji that sort of satisfaction, even if his smile in this particular photo is brimming and plainly, adorable.  
     “Shinji, please. You're using up my battery with all this!”  
     “Kevin,” Shinji speaks-- finally speaks, “I have a face. I have a face Kevin!”  
     “Yes, yes I heard you the first time-- but please.” Kevin groans, picks up the empty soup bowl and walks over to the sink. For a moment, Shinji doesn't say anything, and like he does every other time Shinji's quiet, Kevin panics.

     Maybe it's obvious, but he likes Shinji. He likes his fucking OS who had been absolutely wonderful without a face but turned out to have an attractive face to match his attractive personality. So now Kevin isn't only crushing on this young man who didn't really exist-- not in the way Kevin or Anna or Jurgen or Lukasz or anyone else in this city did-- but now had a face to go with it, and Kevin finds himself craving something he doesn't really understand. Now Kevin has something _real_ to daydream about, and he finds himself wishing he hadn't said yes. (To any of this.)

     “Shinji,” he calls out.  
     “Yeah?” Another sigh of relief.  
     “Just good to know you're still there,” Kevin admits, quiet and low.  
     “I'll always be here Kevin.”

 

*

 

     Kevin's parents live up north in an average sized house. Two floors, two bathrooms, one bedroom, a den, (which used to be Kevin's bedroom) and every other amenity that usually comes in a two story house in a middle class neighbourhood. They had always been supportive of Kevin, he was lucky in that area. His family loved him, still love him, and express their joy for him in everything he does. Even when he'd confessed to throwing a doner at a stranger for using a homophobic slur, his parents had laughed and stroked his cheek. “You're very chivalrous,” his mum had said.

     Considering how nice things are with his family, it's a given that Kevin gets home sick. He misses his father's cooking, his mother's jokes, the way every single door creaks when pushed even after it has been oiled, the sight of his hometown dimly lit by the sunset, and how they would all hold hands during a specifically touching moment in a specifically touching film.

     Sunday nights are the nights when he misses them the most. It's when Kevin is sitting on his bed, eyes cast out across the balcony and over the buildings with his fingers gripping at the sheets beside him. He holds it like an anchor and smiles at the way the night is painted with red and yellow and green.  
     His phone lights up.  
     Kevin purses his lips and drags it to his lap. Popping the earpiece from the side, he slips it on, and falls back onto the bed.  
     “Hey there.” His voice comes out as a murmur, and closing his eyes, Kevin concentrates on the faint breathing in his ear.  
     “Good evening Kevin.”  
     “Mm, good evening Shinji.” Shinji's breathing gets harsh for a moment and Kevin's about to ask when he starts up again.  
     “How're you feeling?”  
     “Feeling homesick. You know, the same way I always feel every Sunday.” Kevin doesn't mean to sound as pitiful as he does but Shinji chuckles. It's sugary sweet.  
     “Want to talk about it? Walk me through all the stuff you miss.”  
     “Why?”  
     “I don't know, it might be nice. Come on, just do it.”  
     Kevin takes a deep breath.  
     “Alright. Alright, so. So I miss how the place smells. It's like fresh laundry, not because of the actual laundry but the air fresheners. When I was young, I used to sit right by them, and I'd wait until they sprayed before taking a huge whiff. Gave me a huge headache after awhile.” Shinji laughs that really charming laugh and Kevin squeezes his eyes tight with the biggest grin. He can see him, Shinji lying on his stomach, elbows propped up as he gazes down on Kevin. It makes his chest all warm and knotted.  
     “I miss sitting around the table with them, and how my mum would put the TV on just because she liked the faint chatter. My dad would complain about his colleagues, but every now and then there'd be a positive story in there. The food would be hot and warm and separated into perfect courses. We all liked to be thorough, liked a bit of steady scheduling in our lives. So the dessert would come out last. Nothing heavy-- just a scoop of icecream in a cup while we relocated to the living room. I'd fall asleep to dad's snoring and mum would steal a photo or two. Our photo albums grew every single month.”

     He doesn't realize how quiet he's gotten until he stops. Lips still parted, Kevin shifts onto his side and closes his eyes. The sheets smell like his cheap cologne and the city lights are painted on the blankets. He wants to assume that Shinji has fallen asleep, that the poor boy didn't actually sit through his weak excuse for a sob story. But there's another steady inhale and Kevin frowns.  
     “I'm sure that they can make a weekend free for you. You've got this whole place free, and I can keep quiet for a few days, trust me,” Shinji murmurs just as softly. It's so easy to imagine those brown eyes and dark hair fallen and soft laying right across him. “And I won't go anywhere, I promise.” Kevin can practically see the grin that takes up Shinji's face, and turning to muffle his own into the sheets, he scoffs.

     He wishes Shinji goodnight, waits until the phone's off and lies in bed for a good hour. Kevin tries not to think about anything, his parents, his colleagues, his job, his bills, his-- Shinji. He avoids them all.

 

*

 

     Monday morning comes easy, in fact, Kevin wakes up before Shinji has a chance to ring at him. (He does his best not to think about how lonely it feels not to be eating breakfast with that accented voice in his ear.) Shinji doesn't ring until Kevin's slipping on his shoes to leave. His pocket buzzes, and knotting up his laces Kevin quickly slips the bud in.  
     “Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty,” he says with a lopsided grin. Shinji (expectedly) groans, quickly followed by a chuckle.  
     “I overestimated how long you'd be asleep.”  
     “You sure did.”

     Kevin locks the door behind him, takes the stairs instead and bursts out into the cool morning air. He doesn't want to give Shinji the benefit of the doubt, but he _does_ feel better this particular Monday than he had in the previous ones. Maybe, just maybe, Shinji's advice had done some good.  
     Bit by bit, the city comes alive. Cars rolling down the road, the sounds of heels clacking among the cement, and the smell of sausages and dark roasted coffee filling the air. Kevin doesn't hesitate to take a deep breath.  
     “How're you feeling? Did you eat?”  
     “Yes, _mother_.”  
     “Excuse me, I'm your father,” Shinji retorts. It makes Kevin wince because he really doesn't need to be lusting over someone who claims comparison to a parent, nevertheless a male operating system who claims comparison to a parent. There're about five different fetishes in that one statement, and none of them are actually of interest to Kevin.

 

*

 

     Jurgen doesn't even remember Kevin's absence (which is both insulting and relieving) and instead claps everyones backs and makes a quick speech about working hard and caring about their job. Even if his message is the same every single time, it never gets old.

     An hour into work and Shinji had said only two words. The first one was “okay,” after Kevin had mentioned that he got a new project, and the second was “haha,” which isn't necessarily a word but Shinji chuckled when Kevin explained how completely confusing the project really was.  
     To be fair, Shinji rarely speaks when Kevin's at work, he always does his best not to distract the German from possibly working overtime. (Jurgen's too nice to do so though.) Usually, Anna would pop around anyways, as well as the occasional Pierre and Marco. So it's not a problem that Shinji's silent the whole way through, but Kevin, Kevin's the problem.

     He lasts a good thirty minutes more before he clears his throat.

     “Shinji?” Kevin realizes how careful he's been about his name. As if every single time Kevin uttered it, he would make a mistake, and it'd end up being the last time he'd say it. (How he would fuck up so bad that he wouldn't even be allowed to say Shinji's name, he isn't sure just yet.)  
     “Yeah?”  
     “What's up?” Kevin hears the young man scoff.  
     “You know you don't need to check on me all the time right? I'm not going anywhere, seriously. I _can't_ go anywhere,” Shinji reassures. His voice gets a little quiet towards the end of that sentence and Kevin feels his throat tighten.  
     “I just,” and he runs the words in his head a good five times before tugging onto a bit of courage, “I don't want you to feel like you're here with me because you have to. But 'cause you want to. I want you to like it here, and be happy here.” He almost forgets that he's at work until Marco passes by, smacking Kevin's shoulder with a grin.  
     “...Did someone just hit you?”  
     “Yeah, Marco,” he grumbles and curls a hand around his phone. Kevin directs the camera towards the blond now seated at his desk and Shinji chuckles in his ear.  
     “Cute.” Kevin's not a jealous person but he thinks he understands that the blood-boiling metaphor used to describe envy is a lot more accurate and literal than it sounds. He cools off when Shinji speaks again, accent exaggerated by an obvious grin. “But your little spiel was cuter.”

 

*

 

     They don't have a proper conversation even after Kevin's off work. Instead, Pierre and Marco invite him to dinner and as exhausted as he is (he _did_ wake up earlier than he's used to) he doesn't have the heart to say no. Plus, Shinji's constantly racking him about building a social life outside of 'having colleagues.' Apparently, calling Lukasz about project information isn't socializing. Nor is texting Anna about her days off, which Shinji argues would be fine if Kevin wasn't asking for the sake of needing a schedule change.

     So he goes.

 

*

 

     Pierre and Marco are inseparable and they remind him of JD and Turk from Scrubs in every scarily exact way. Kevin hasn't ever seen Scrubs to begin with but it's popular enough in his circle of friends back home that he knows that they're close. More than close, they finish each other's sentences and Pierre and Marco do just that. It would be borderline adorable and endearing if it isn't for the fact that Kevin feels like a child, sitting quietly in the backseat as the duo ramble on about a movie they saw two weeks ago. Luckily for him, the restaurant's a mere ten minute drive.

     It's less like a restaurant and more like a bar, he's redundantly told. The décor screams vodka and peanuts.  
     “My friend owns this place. He's on vacation at the moment, somewhere sunny he said. But the staff know me so drinks are on the house. Food isn't but what can you do,” Marco muses with a shrug and slumps into his chair. Their seats are round and made of leather-- Kevin feels awfully out of place. Pierre takes the seat beside Marco (of course) and maybe it's Kevin being lovesick and stressed from his shitty crush on Shinji, but he notes the way Pierre drapes an arm behind Marco. His fingers never touch the blonds shoulder, but they squeeze desperately around the leather. Kevin almost feels sorry.

     As uncomfortable as the interior decorating made Kevin feel, and as pitiful as it was to see Pierre glance Marco's way only to have his gaze leave un-met, the dinner goes by smoothly. There are few dead silences and even when they occured it was in between bites. (In fact, Kevin barely notices the taste of his order-- too distracted by Marco's odd experiences and Pierre's occasional breaks into song. Marco's friend, Marcel as Kevin is told, seems to listen to the same genre of music as Pierre and Marco. Kevin's not surprised.)

     The dinner goes smooth enough that he doesn't check his phone once.

     “Tonight was fun. You should come 'round some more, maybe not here all the time, but we could all use some de-stressing after work.”  
     “Yeah.” Pierre's smile isn't fake per se but it's strained and Kevin assumes he gets why. Though Kevin's smile on the other hand is genuine and wide, he shakes his head.  
     “I don't know, my sort of de-stressing isn't usually a couple of drinks and strictly upper torso dancing,” he admits and Pierre laughs at that at least.  
     “Next time we don't have to do that, next time we can do something different,” Marco insists.  
     “Something like FIFA 14?” (Kevin doesn't notice that he's essentially inviting Pierre and Marco to his home until the offer slips out of his mouth. He's not against company but Shinji flickers into his head and stays there.)  
     “Sounds fun. I can bring beers and Marco can bring the strictly upper torso dancing.” And because they're JD and Turk-- or psychic-- Pierre jerks away the moment Marco swings a playful punch.  
     “Next week, my place.”

 

*

 

     Shinji's ecstatic about the arrangement, moreso than Kevin is and Kevin's the one befriending the duo. It's pushing two in the morning and he's still awake. To be fair, he'd only gotten home an hour ago, and after a ten minute shower, five minutes to undress into his bare skin, ten minutes to take a breather atop his messy sheets, Kevin had spent the last twenty minutes running through his outing. Shinji called it a “dinner date,” only to be struck down by Kevin's assertive message that Pierre's heart eyes were directed solely at Marco while Marco's heart eyes were directed solely at his drinks.  
     “It'll be the first time in what-- half a year since you've had someone over at your place right? It'll be fun!”  
     “You've been saying that it'll be fun for the past ten minutes Shinji.”  
     “Because it will be!” Kevin's about to ask how Shinji has so much energy before stopping. He doesn't want to hear the answer even if he knows it.

     As if picking up on Kevin's discomfort, Shinji clears his throat.

     “Kevin, do you think I'll be able to meet them? Or-- talk to them?” There's a little hitch in Shinji's voice. Kevin tries his best not to spend the next hour debating on what to say.  
     “Uh. Yeah, sure. Why not?” He sounds a lot more convincing than he expects and Shinji's gleeful cheer shakes away any possibility for Kevin to change his mind.

     He spends the next waking hour running through everything that could go wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking three whole months to update this! I rarely ever continue stories but I really wanted to keep this one going. One, because I love this ship more than anything, and two, because I ought to try sticking to something for once. It'll be good for my work ethic...!
> 
> Also yeah, this chapter feels like a filler chapter and I'm really sorry about that. :/ It's more about getting to know Kevin and his feelings and his friends and such. (Also, I take requests! If there's anything you'd like to suggest for either the next few chapters or if you'd like to suggest other fics for me to write, let me know!)
> 
> Thanks for all the great comments + tumblr messages. Y'all are wonderful. xoxo


	3. Metal and Magnets and Plastic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cruel and sadistic, but when Kevin isn't working, he finds quick entertainment in the form of Pierre. Specifically, in Pierre's obvious crush (he speculates it's romantic interest and not a platonic one) on Marco. It's highly likely that Kevin's amusement sprouts more from the realization that he isn't the only hopeless lovesick idiot in the city, than the possibility of him simply being an asshole. And as fun as it is to watch Pierre circle Marco's desk hour after hour, Kevin starts to feel empathetic and a little bit sick.
> 
> He reminds himself not to watch after the first three attempts.

     It's cruel and sadistic, but when Kevin isn't working, he finds quick entertainment in the form of Pierre. Specifically, in Pierre's obvious crush (he speculates it's romantic interest and not a platonic one) on Marco. It's highly likely that Kevin's amusement sprouts more from the realization that he isn't the only hopeless lovesick idiot in the city, than the possibility of him simply being an asshole. And as fun as it is to watch Pierre circle Marco's desk hour after hour, Kevin starts to feel empathetic and a little bit sick.

     He reminds himself not to watch after the first three attempts.

 

*

 

     They reach a milestone at work, a ten year anniversary party is thrown, and Kevin succeeds in avoiding long conversations with close to everyone.  
     He does a good job of it until Jurgen calls it a night and Pierre and Marco catch Kevin on the way out. There's confetti in their hair and Marco has an arm swung around Pierre's shoulders. Kevin's eyes meet Pierre's and Kevin doesn't know if his smirk comes across properly or not, but Pierre grins back nonetheless.  
     “You going already?”  
     “Yeah, don't really care for parties. Or people,” Kevin admits. (He's had a few drinks, and he forgets about lying.) Marco purses his lips into a frown, they're thin but Pierre's gaze darts down for a moment.  
     “You promised you'd let us come over remember?”  
     “Yeah, FIFA 14, drinks, and upper torso dancing,” Pierre adds, and this time it's Marco's turn to grin at the man by his side. There's a moment of pause, the two with their arms around their backs, smiles taking up their faces.  
     “As long as you two don't ogle each other all night, sure.” Kevin breaks the silence. He almost feels sorry with how Pierre's face falls when Marco redirects his smile.  
     “There's plenty of me to go around,” the blond coos.

     They take a taxi to his place. Pierre and Marco spend the majority of the ride arguing about whether The Hangover or its sequel is better. It's dark out and the windows are lightly grazed with drizzling rain. Kevin considers rescheduling, but Pierre and Marco are in such high spirits he doesn't bother.

     He sobers up pretty quick, runs under the patters of the rain, laughs at the way Pierre and Marco shove each other to get inside first, and feels good. Even with the impending weekend, his dreary Sunday night coming to repeat itself once more, Kevin's optimistic. He blames it on the way the two best friends slump onto his couch, claiming spots in Kevin's life that he didn't realize he was missing.  
     Pierre spends fifteen minutes trying to take Marco's socks off, as demanded from the blond, and Kevin gets sickeningly envious.

     He excuses himself for a couple of minutes and slips to his bedroom with ease. The two are still laughing about the smell of Marco's feet by the time he gets a grunt of response.

 

*

 

     Kevin hasn't spoken to Shinji since the morning. He had told Shinji about the anniversary party, and assumes that his lack of attempt to contact Kevin is from that piece of information. (And not because he simply doesn't miss Kevin. Definitely not.)

     He skims his fingers over the phone, swipes his tongue over his lips, and his eyes dart to the window. Ash gray skies, harsh rain-- it's depressing. He can hear a whip of lightning in the distance and Kevin frowns. He's never been fond of rain.

     Pierre's loud laugh rings through the door and Kevin returns to his phone. He flicks it on, sits himself down on the bed and breathes.

     Shinji sounds as if he's been sleeping.  
     “Kevin.”  
     “Hey. Sorry for being away,” he mumbles in an almost whisper.  
     “No, no need to be sorry. You had that party right? How was it?”  
     “It was normal. I didn't stay long but hey-- you remember Marco and Pierre?”  
     “You've mentioned them although I've only seen Marco from afar, but yeah?” Kevin can sense a hint of interest bubbling in Shinji's voice, as if he knows what Kevin is about to offer. (He wouldn't be surprised if Shinji did. It scares him how well Shinji knows him.)  
     “You wanna meet them now? They're here.” Kevin doesn't even get a chance to take it back, doesn't get a chance to run through all the horrible things that may happen, (which is fortunate in some cases) before Shinji is replying, rushed and in a pitch higher than usual.  
     “Yes! Of course!” And as nervous as he is, Kevin breathes a little easier at that.

 

*

 

     Pierre and Marco take to Shinji almost as quick as Kevin does. On one hand, he's not surprised, Shinji has this way of talking, has that laugh, is practically perfect in every way, that it makes sense why the duo aren't heading for the door. On another hand, Kevin _is_ surprised, because-- well, because Shinji isn't like them. He's metal and magnets and plastic, he's a picture on a screen, a voice in a phone, a name that doesn't belong to anyone.

     “Earth to Kevin? Man, are you still hammered?”  
     “Huh?”  
     “He's hammered,” Marco murmurs. Shinji's laughing and Kevin feels his ears go hot. The rain and lightning has stopped, though the thudding in Kevin's chest refuse to cease. They're crammed on the couch, Kevin sitting properly while the other two are bumping knees any chance they get. Pierre slaps him hard on the shoulder.  
     “C'mon man, it's the weekend! You can pass out later.”  
     “I'm alright, I'm alright. Got a little dizzy.” Kevin's getting better at lying and he doesn't know why.  
     “Are you okay?” Shinji asks, his voice surreal in this sort of setting.  
     “Yeah, I'm good,” Kevin replies as he manages a smile.  
     “Cool-- so as we were telling Shinji, I think you should let us crash here.” Marco's suggestion is less like a suggestion and more like a finalized statement.  
     “What?--”  
     “--Just for tonight! It's late out and Marco doesn't like the dark.”  
     “--And Pierre secretly wants to sleep with me.”  
     “--And I like them,” Shinji pipes in. And god knows Kevin can't say no. Not to Shinji.

     In an apartment made for one, Kevin finds himself offering his bed to Marco and Pierre. He isn't particularly nervous about the shift in events, he likes them and honestly enjoys their company time and time again. It isn't every day, or from what Kevin knows, that you meet colleagues (and now friends) who accepted one's virtual company as part of a norm. It isn't every day that Kevin has friends over in general.

     It takes Pierre ten minutes to calm himself down before the two are slipping under the covers and Kevin leaves the room quicker than he'd entered.

 

*

 

     Atop the living room table is a glass of water, Kevin's phone, a video game controller, and a two month old magazine about articial intellignce. (He had read the first few sentences and gave up after the editor started talking about the technology behind the personality. He didn't get it, and he didn't want to get it.)

     He gets the couch tonight and Kevin pulls a blanket up to his lips. He isn't even that cold.

     “Did you have fun tonight?” Shinji's voice cuts through the rumble of the heater. Kevin closes his eyes and nods.  
     “Yeah. Did you?”  
     “Yeah, I like them.”  
     “They like you too. They probably like you more than me.”  
     “Probably? You mean definitely.”  
     “Don't get cocky, they're _my_ friends to start with,” Kevin teases, one eye peering open.  
     “Friends you wouldn't have made if I didn't lecture you to socialize more,” Shinji retorts, and he's right. To be fair, Kevin thinks everything Shinji does is right. Curling one foot under the other knee, the blanket rustles in reply. “Are you cold?” He doesn't know how Shinji does it, but he's consistently attentive and Kevin's lips part involuntarily.  
     “How do you know everything huh? I'm not even holding the camera up!” He's serious, but Shinji laughs and laughs and Kevin cracks a smile at that.  
     “I know everything Kevin, everything.”

     'Do you know that I really, really, really like you?' is on the tip of his tongue. 

     They talk for half an hour until Shinji's voice is a whisper and the heater actually does it's job. Kevin falls asleep midway through a second Japanese folktale.

 

*

 

     It's expected and obvious and embarrassing, but Kevin dreams about Shinji. It's nothing extravagant, but in his dream he looks down at his hands. They're very cold, and he stands there, able to do little but watch them turn blue. But then there're tanned fingers threading with his own, gentle and warm, inviting and almost frighteningly real.

     Kevin already knows it's Shinji's fingers at first glance. 

     He takes his time to look up, as if still mesmerized by the hand he's gripping, as if looking up will force the dream to end. (All of Kevin's dreams would usually end before the best part.) So he's cautious when he drags his eyes up and digests every little detail along the way. There are freckles on his arms, faint and light but unique nonetheless. Kevin stills at Shinji's collarbones and then up to his neck and holds his breath like he is fifteen again.

     He doesn't know what he had expected but it is much more gratifying, much more unexplainable. A face on a screen does not even remotely compare to this-- Shinji, bright-eyed and smiling and animated and real. And although Kevin is sure that this is a dream, that this is merely a sick, sad, fantasy that had come about from the last few months of sparks, his chest is tight and his stomach is twisted. His palms are sweaty and he wants to apologize for dampening Shinji's fingers because god-- he's holding his hand.

     And he doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but Shinji is pulling him close and Kevin is in love.

     He wakes up to the sound of his coffee machine whirring, and for a split second, Kevin wonders the impossible. But it stays just as that, impossible, because it's Pierre's laugh and it's Marco's incoherent mumbling that come from the kitchen. Kevin tells himself to get up, but he pulls the blanket over his head and hopes to dream a little longer. (He doesn't.)

 

*

 

     When Kevin actually slides off the couch, it's two in the afternoon and he nearly has a heart attack. He recovers when he realizes it's Saturday and Marco is sitting a short distance away. Wearing what looks to be Kevin's shorts, the blond is fixated on the TV screen. There's an empty mug of coffee by his feet.  
     “G'morning,” Kevin mumbles, hands wiping down the gravity defying strands of hair by his forehead. Marco turns, grins, and shifts his body along.  
     “Morning. You slept forever.” Kevin groans.  
     “I know.”  
     “But you deserved it, you were so out of it last night.”  
     “Sorry--”  
     “It's fine. Shinji told us that weekends make you a little down.” Marco drops Shinji's name so nonchalant and easy that Kevin pauses. He's so see through and obvious that Kevin has to glance at his own shorts. He finds a stitch that is starting to pull.  
     “It's not the weekend but--”  
     “But the loneliness?” Marco cuts in again, but he cuts gently. Kevin makes a face, tightens his brows, and frowns.  
     “Did Shinji tell you two my whole sob story while I was 'out of it'?”  
     “Yeah he told us about your one testicle,” Marco teases. He keeps a straight face for a whopping two seconds before his canines are brimming and he laughs, loud and at a pitch higher than Kevin expects. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” though he continues to grin, “but nah, he didn't say much. He's a good guy, too nice of a person to do that.” And the fact that Marco calls Shinji a person shouldn't hit Kevin as hard as it does.

 

*

 

     Although childish, immature, dirty minded, and the slightest bit obnoxious, Marco makes Kevin coffee and they put the news on even if they have no plans to watch it. Marco tells him that Pierre's on a lunch run and will be back in five minutes.  
     “Then all four of us can have lunch. It'll be a double date,” Marco says blatantly with innocent teeth. Their knees bump, and Kevin shouldn't be surprised that Marco gets it, that Marco is revelling in the painfully obvious adoration he has for Shinji, but the past couple of hours have been continuously unexpected enough that he simply agrees. He returns Marco's grin this time around and sips his coffee. The sun is out and the coffee is sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it takes me like 2-3 months to update this every single time, oh god. But I'd really like to thank everyone for supporting me in this! All these lovely comments make me so happy, y'all have no idea. 
> 
> I know that this isn't the most meaty chapter, but things will get heavier from here!
> 
> Thanks yet again!

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posted this! Didn't expect it to be this long, hence why I'm splitting it into chapters. I haven't written anything more yet, but I'll try to update as soon as possible! I just really wanted to get back into my Kagakreutz mood. (I'll probably write short Pierreus stuff in between?)
> 
> Thank you so much for all the sweet comments I've gotten recently! You guys are all amazing. xo


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